Beginning Now
by enigma731
Summary: He collects short-term relationships like trophies, as though having enough might somehow make up for what his life lacks. A pre-series/first season AU. COMPLETED: 9/25
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Beginning Now (1/?)

AUTHOR: enigma731

RATING: R

PAIRING: Chase/Cameron

WARNINGS: sex

SUMMARY: She is an oxymoron, capable of instant metamorphosis from complete innocent sweetness to piercing judgment. A pre-series/first season AU.

NOTES: So, I had every intention of taking like a month off from fic after finishing TRIS, but obviously that didn't happen. I was originally planning on writing another long, future AU novel next, but decided to take a little detour instead. This is a slightly offbeat idea I've been toying with for about three years now: What if Chase and Cameron originally had an FWB-type arrangement in secret during the first season? It's very different from anything else I've ever written, and I hope you'll think it's as much fun as I do. That said, here's a little disclaimer from the start: I'm doing this for fun, and for sort of a break after TRIS. It won't be nearly as long (I'm thinking 10-15 chapters), and the updates won't be quite as regular. I'm thinking I'll aim for about once a week, give or take a few days. I know that's not ideal, but unfortunately I have lots of pesky real-life things going on right now that have to take precedence. Anyway, enough rambling on my part. I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

* * *

Chapter One

The day that they meet seems like it will be unremarkable, ordinary, just one more in the string of failed job interviews which are House's latest game of rebellion.

Chase does not believe in fate or love at first sight, or even true romance, really. Fifteen years of watching his parents' marriage slowly disintegrate into ruin has been more than enough to convince him that sex is as serious as he ever wants to get about anyone. Even friendship seems questionable, a risk whose benefits usually do not justify the taking. Fun is what he is good at: casual pleasure with no attachments. Maximum gratification for a minimum of effort.

And so on this morning, as he takes the elevator up to the fourth floor, he is expecting nothing more than the possible entertainment of watching House drive off yet another hapless fellowship candidate, a break from the monotony of another idle day.

He is not expecting the interviewee to be female. Chase has been here long enough to hear that House never hires women for his team. For a moment after he enters the office, he finds himself struck dumb by surprise, standing in stunned silence and taking this woman in: long dark hair and glasses, and a sort of vulnerable sincerity in her eyes which makes him certain House will eat her alive. Not his type, but undeniably attractive in an unconventional way.

"Hi," says Chase finally, shaking himself. He has been staring rudely, allowing himself to fall victim to disorientation. Always a bad idea in this department, he has learned the hard way. He can't tell yet just what kind of game House is trying to play today, but he's already certain it will be different from the usual. He'll have to keep on his toes; even if he is not the one being tested today, these things tend to be rampant with collateral damage.

"You're not Dr. House," says the woman, looking at the floor. She catches her lower lip between her teeth, pressing it bloodless for a moment before letting it go and sucking in a breath.

"You're observant," quips Chase, then smiles to let her know that he's—mostly—joking. There's something about her which makes him suspect she might be offended by harsher sarcasm. Not waiting for a further response, he steps forward and offers his hand. "Robert Chase. I work with House. He won't be here for at least another half hour."

"Allison Cameron." She frowns, biting her lip again, a nervous habit which betrays the confidence in her handshake. "He told me to be here at nine. You're—on his team?"

"I _am_ his team, currently," says Chase. "And he never shows up to work before ten, regardless of what he told you."

Cameron looks taken aback, even more lost than a moment before. "How long have you been here? Dr. Cuddy said House needed to hire a team. She didn't say anything about him having an existing one."

"Cuddy recruited you?" asks Chase, ignoring her question. This explains how she has gotten far enough to interview, and also spells certain doom. Chase cannot imagine House actually hiring anyone at Cuddy's recommendation, and especially not someone she seems to have thrust upon him with the sole intent to even out the department's gender ratio.

"Not—exactly," says Cameron, glancing around nervously as though she expects House to appear from some unknown hiding spot at any moment. "I applied as soon as I heard that Dr. House had an opening in his department. Dr. Cuddy just—said she'd do what she could to help me."

"Don't let House hear you say that," says Chase sharply. "Although he probably already knows."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cameron crosses her arms, but her face still seems somehow too soft for the gesture. She is not accustomed to intimidating anyone, or perhaps even truly defending herself, Chase thinks.

"It means—Think rebellious teenager and overly strict mum. House really doesn't like anyone encroaching on his independence." Chase pulls out a chair and sits in it heavily, resting his forearms on the glass conference table. This conversation is oddly exhausting; there's something in Cameron's cluelessness that makes him feel oddly responsible for the trial she's about to face. Up until today, the fellowship candidates House has interviewed have all been more or less the same: brash, overly confident, and so full of ego it's seemed little else would fit inside their heads. It's been entertaining to watch House systematically destroy them, verbally rip them apart until they've left in a cloud of confusion. But Cameron seems honest in her intentions today, genuinely enthusiastic about this job no matter how ill-suited her personality may be. Chase finds himself feeling preemptively guilty for what is about to happen to her.

Cameron glances back and forth between him and the nearest chair, as though she can't decide whether sitting or standing constitutes the more strategic position. But before she can make a decision, House appears at last, pushing the door open with his cane and making his way straight to the whiteboard, file in hand.

"New case," says House, without pausing to so much as greet either of them.

"Dr. House," Cameron breaks in, the words coming out in a nervous rush. She steps forward as if to shake his hand, then seems to think better of it, looking at the floor in front of her instead, already partially defeated.

"I know who you are," says House, with an air of general annoyance.

"Don't you want to—interview me or something?" asks Cameron, looking more confused by the second. Regardless of what she may have heard about House's reputation—and she'd have to be downright oblivious to have heard nothing—she has come unprepared to deal with it face to face.

"Not really," says House.

"Wasn't that the point of my coming here today?" Cameron asks again, a hint of hardness edging her voice this time. Anger, frustration, or a complete façade, Chase can't tell. She isn't as easy to read as he'd thought at first glance, he realizes, and that makes her intriguing.

"No," says House. "The point was for me to determine whether you'd make a good addition to my team. An interview isn't going to tell me that, it's just going to be a waste of everyone's time. I need to know whether you can work on a case. Consider this a trial run."

"All right," Cameron agrees, after a moment. "Are you going to tell us who the patient is, then?"

"No," says House, and there's a glint in his eye which tells Chase this is very much a test, a game in which they are both about to play pawns. Reaching into his pocket, he produces a key. "Not yet. Wouldn't want to bias you. But I am going to tell you to go check out the patient's home."

"You want us to go to a patient's house?" Cameron looks stunned, completely unable to process this information. "Why? Is that even legal?"

"Take Pretty Boy here with you," says House, holding up a worn-looking key. "He can explain on the way. Besides, if you get arrested, he can always have Daddy bail you out."

—

"So, what now?" asks Cameron, when they are both seated in Chase's car. "House wants us to just—break into this patient's home?" She crosses her arms, looking tense still. Chase had thought that perhaps she might be more relaxed outside of the hospital, but now it seems more likely that this quiet anxiety is her way of life.

"He got a key," says Chase, thinking that at least they aren't being asked to pick a lock, for once. "He might have asked permission." House is testing Cameron, he knows, but he's fairly certain that actual breaking and entering would scare her away in a heartbeat. Everything about her exudes straight-laced rule-follower. And yet, he finds himself once again feeling vaguely protective; he does not want her to fail.

"_Might_ have?" Cameron presses, craning her neck to look out the window. They are only a few miles from campus, in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Princeton. The street is lined with large old houses and equally majestic trees, resplendent with lush summer foliage.

Chase sucks in a breath as he parks along the curb, hoping this isn't about to be a disaster. In the six months he's spent working for House, he's developed a fairly high tolerance for humiliation, for the constant stream of ridicule, learned to accept it as a part of the method which leads to so many unlikely lives saved. An occupational hazard of working in the department. But today the stakes feel higher; if he ends up looking like a fool, Cameron will be here to see. Impressing her seems suddenly of paramount importance, though he tries to remind himself that her opinion should not matter. In all likelihood, he will never even see her again after today.

"House doesn't put much stock in patients' feelings," says Chase, as he turns the lock in the key. It works, he's relieved to find, and the house is dark and silent as they step into the entryway. Empty.

"Isn't that supposed to be what medicine is all about?" asks Cameron, hugging herself and shivering as she glances around. It's the height of summer, a heat wave raging outside, but the air conditioning in this house seems to be programmed for overcompensation.

"Not for House," Chase answers, bypassing the living room to investigate the kitchen. "He likes puzzles better than patients. And they usually don't tell us the information that's in their best interest anyway. Better to act blindly than to bias ourselves on their lies, he thinks." It's strange that they have not even been given a list of symptoms in this case, though he's not about to let Cameron know that. House's disdain for his patients is nothing new, but Chase has an uneasy feeling that today they are here to find something other than a cause of illness. House undoubtedly knows something he isn't telling them. He never does anything without an angle.

"You never said how long you've been working for him," says Cameron, opening the refrigerator and bending down to examine its contents. She is taking this search seriously, despite her obvious reservations about being here.

"Six months," says Chase, glancing over the cleaners under the sink. All organic and hypoallergenic, unlikely to be toxic unless ingested in large amounts. "I guess you could say I'm the survivor from his last team."

"He goes through employees quickly, then?" Cameron closes the refrigerator and moves on to the cupboards, standing on tiptoe despite her impractically high heels. "What happened to the others?"

"You've met House now," says Chase, evading the real question. "God knows why _you_ still want to work for him."

"There's a lot of herbal supplements here," she answers, ignoring him. "These aren't subject to FDA regulation. Could cause dangerous interactions or side effects."

"Yeah," says Chase, distractedly. She deserves to know the truth about House's former fellows, he thinks, especially if she is going to have any real shot at staying in the department for more than just this afternoon. "We had a patient who was involved in a gang. House—sent the others to investigate the neighborhood. They were robbed at gunpoint. Quit that afternoon."

"And you didn't?" Cameron asks sharply, abandoning her search of the kitchen cupboards.

Chase shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't with them. And they were all right. Lost some cash, but they weren't hurt."

"Well, it's good to know that you're loyal," says Cameron, the biting sarcasm in her voice a surprise. She is an oxymoron, capable of instant metamorphosis from complete innocent sweetness to piercing caustic judgment. She turns and walks into the living room without giving him a chance to respond.

"Hey!" Chase calls after her, though he's not sure she can still hear him. "I _like_ my job!"

Sighing, he finishes searching the kitchen, deciding not to go after her for the moment. He's well aware that his choices while working for House can be considered less than admirable. Still, if he quits this job, the alternative is likely a trip back home, and the thought of practicing medicine directly in his father's shadow is anything but appealing. He'd been much younger than House's previous two fellows besides, and had never felt any kind of camaraderie with the team. At the time, it had seemed almost a relief when they'd resigned. A chance for a fresh start. Now, three months later, House's games of constant procrastination are getting old.

"Chase!" Cameron calls from the living room, the tone of her voice shattering his thoughts. She's found something.

"What is it?" asks Chase, going to stand beside her, and falling silent when he sees what she's looking at: a stack of magazines and mail, all addressed to Lisa Cuddy. Suddenly this trip makes sense, the secrecy and the deception.

"He sent us to break into Dr. Cuddy's house," says Cameron, sounding at once shaken and indignant.

"Test us, and simultaneously annoy the boss." Chase snorts. "It's sort of brilliant, actually."

"Well, I guess that's my cue to go home." Cameron sounds as though she might actually cry. "You were right. He was just using me to get back at her. I can walk back to campus. My car's not that far away." She turns on her heel and is out the door with surprising speed, leaving Chase to hurry after her, feeling stunned.

"Cameron!" he calls, catching her arm before she can get past his car, surprising himself with the intensity of his resolve. "Don't quit."

"Why?" She turns on him in a rush, flushed and clearly upset. "So the two of you can have some more fun with me?"

"I had no idea what he was doing!" Chase protests. "And because—I'm tired of everyone letting him win. He was testing you. Trying to make you give up. If you come back after this—He just might take you seriously."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

WARNINGS: sex

* * *

Chapter Two

It takes Cameron exactly two days to form a complete opinion of Chase. She has known too many of his type in college and medical school: rich, lazy, and more interested in the white-coat image than in saving people's lives. Still, morals aside, he seems harmless enough, friendly in a superficial way, and generically good-looking. Not the kind of person she would ever seriously consider dating, though the fact that she's even followed that train of thought far enough to reject it makes her feel vaguely ridiculous. Cameron is certain she would not even be on his radar were she not such an anomaly in his typical work environment.

For the first two weeks, she lives out of boxes and doesn't dare buy furniture for her new apartment in Princeton. She has the sense that House is only keeping her around for the minimal entertainment of seeing how long it will take her to fail and go back home to Chicago. He remains largely absent, their cases nonexistent, and Chase seems content to sit on his hands all day with a mug of tea and a book of logic puzzles. Cameron busies herself with the backlog of paperwork, an unwieldy mountain several years in the making. She quickly learns that House leaves his work email up on the office computer, that he never answers the multitude of letters from desperate patients.

She isn't sure what it is that makes her begin returning the emails herself. She knows better than to think it will impress House; in fact, after nearly a month in the department, she's fairly certain he'd be annoyed by the initiative. Still, she has never been good at staying idle for long periods of time. Too much empty space and quiet in which to think about the memories she's been running from for years. And she remembers too well the feelings of helplessness in the search for answers, a headlong flight from one dead-end to another. That is what's driven her into the world of medicine, the illusion of some semblance of control. These are the things she keeps to herself; she has already decided that Chase is too shallow to understand, and House would regard her secrets with nothing but contempt. Better to let them think she is yet another hapless idealist who's stumbled into medicine with delusions of grandeur and a mission to save the world.

Nearly six weeks have passed when they get their first real case. The shift comes without warning, though Chase has told Cameron that House goes through periods of fixation, immersing himself in whichever puzzle has currently caught hold of his attention. On this morning, he simply breezes into the office with a file in hand, giving Cameron an eerie sense of déjà vu, memories of her first day here stirring.

"Nine-year-old girl," says House, brandishing the folder with his personal style of dramatic flair. "Starving to death."

"Is it an actual patient this time?" asks Chase skeptically, closing the book of crosswords he's been poking at all morning. "Not someone else you want to con us into harassing?"

"Do you know any nine-year-olds in the administration?" mocks House. He sets the file on the table with a soft slap, and slides it neatly across to Chase. "Dr. Cameron. Now would be an excellent time to demonstrate that you're good for more than catching up my paperwork. Although that's an admittedly valuable skill."

"You said starving to death?" asks Cameron, craning her neck to see over Chase's shoulder. "The most obvious explanation would be abuse and neglect." He's already turned the page, so she cannot see whether there's any sort of history recorded. She feels the sudden overwhelming need to prove herself to both of them, though she knows that's a futile pursuit with House, and isn't sure why she cares what Chase thinks besides.

"And if the explanation were _obvious_, would I be wasting precious time on it?" House makes a face which says her suggestion is the most contemptible thing he's heard all day. "No. Lives to be saved. Porn to be watched."

"The ER took the history," Chase interrupts, and for once Cameron is grateful. She has never been able to cope well with criticism or self-doubt, more inclined to mentally condemn herself than stand up for an opinion at the risk of confrontation. She has known that would be her challenge in coming here; House's treatment of his colleagues is as infamous as his expertise is renowned. Her hands shake as she takes the file from Chase, and she busies herself flipping pages in the hopes that her anxiety will not be noticed.

"Last autumn, the patient came home from school complaining of belly pain, vomiting, and diarrhea. Her pediatrician passed it off as a seasonal stomach virus, and sent her home. A week later, she ended up in the ER with severe dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. All tests were negative. She was given fluids and recovered after a few days. Since then, she's had increasingly frequent episodes of gastric upset, the most recent of which landed her in our ER today. She's lost more than thirty pounds since her first illness. She must be completely emaciated." Chase folds his hands on the table, looking more alert and focused than Cameron has seen him since they met. House hired him for a reason, she reminds herself.

"That's what you meant by starving to death," says Cameron, then cringes inwardly at the obviousness of that statement. She ought to have known House was not being straightforward from the start. She has had ample opportunity to make this observation about him, even in the limited contact they've had since her hiring.

But this time House only nods, distracted by his task of writing symptoms on the whiteboard at the other end of the room.

"She saw a gastroenterologist two months ago," Cameron reads, trying to piece together the meager history scrawled in shorthand on the chart. The ER is perpetually busy. Not much time for collecting the details of a case, especially when it's simply going to be passed on to another department anyway. "Colonoscopy was clean. Ruled out Crohn's and cancer. Endoscopy ruled out an ulcer. The current diagnosis is irritable bowel syndrome."

"That's not a diagnosis," says House, his back to them as he continues to examine the whiteboard as though it might be an actual patient's body, or a set of lab results instead of a simple scrawled list of symptoms. "It's an excuse. Meant to placate the parents because her doctor can't figure out what's wrong."

"Not her parents," says Cameron, glancing down at the chart again. "She's living with her grandmother. Her mother's in jail for drug trafficking. No father identified."

"Well, good to know that," House retorts sarcastically. "Now we can narrow it down to illnesses that only strike cute little girls with tragic backstories."

"Children with fractured families are at a higher risk for abuse," Cameron insists, the anxiety swelling again. She is good at this, she reminds herself. Her qualifications are more than adequate for this job; her medical instincts have always been good. Yet there's a special something in House's scrutiny that makes her feel as though she might as well be a student again, completely clueless. Glancing sideways at Chase, she sees that he is simply watching their exchange in silence, and she feels an irrational flare of anger at his passivity. She wonders, not for the first time, whether his only interest in her is as a source of entertainment.

"Right," scoffs House. "But Mommy's in jail now, so she can't be feeding drugs to her precious little girl."

"But the grandmother could be!" Cameron forces herself to take a breath, aware that she is losing her composure. "She already raised one child, who ended up in jail. Maybe her parenting skills were never very good. Maybe she resents being forced back into the role of motherhood. It could be Munchausen's by proxy. If she were giving her granddaughter ipecac, it would explain all the symptoms. And the negative tests."

"Fine," says House, after a moment, though he still doesn't look convinced. "We'll test her urine to rule it out. What else?"

"Could be a food sensitivity," says Chase, speaking up at last. "She's about the right age for first presentation of an allergy. Could be worsening with repeated exposure. The history doesn't mention anything about her diet."

"Unlikely that she'd have symptoms that severe with no sign of inflammation or anaphylaxis." Cameron bites her lip, not meeting his eyes.

"Unlikely," he concedes, "but not impossible. We should find out what she's been eating. Maybe do a scratch test."

"Scan her brain," says House, finally turning around to face them again, as though he's scarcely heard the rest of the conversation.

"For a GI problem?" asks Chase, looking skeptical. "A brain tumor causing nausea this severe would rarely present without headache. Dizziness. Other neurological symptoms."

"It's not a GI problem," says House. "At least not directly. This girl's gut has been poked and prodded in every way possible for the past six months. If the problem was there, one of her other doctors would have seen it already. Talk to the grandmother, and then MRI her brain. And take the insane moral compass with you."

—

"You can't let him get into your head like that," says Chase, as soon as they're in the elevator.

"What do you mean?" asks Cameron, though she knows too well what he's saying. She resents the comment after his aloofness just moments before.

"It doesn't matter what you say," Chase answers, punching the button for the patient's floor. "He's gonna ridicule you. It's how he works. You just—have to learn how to let him push you without falling apart."

"And you're the expert?" snaps Cameron, well aware that she's being juvenile.

"No," says Chase, smiling a little. "But I've survived here longer than anyone else so far."

Caroline Whitaker is as shockingly thin as her chart has suggested. Curled up in her bed, she looks eerily like an old woman, her body all sharp angles, the skin of her face stretched taut over her skull. Her hair is thin and dull, and there are dark shadows under her eyes. She doesn't open her eyes as they enter the room, but retreats further beneath the blankets.

"Mrs. Whitaker," Chase begins immediately, smiling and offering his hand to the older woman. His entire demeanor is transformed in an instant, from bored detachment to confident charm. "I'm Dr. Chase, and this is Dr. Cameron. We need to ask you a few questions about your granddaughter."

"I told the doctor in the ER everything I know," says the woman, bristling slightly despite Chase's disarming smile. "All about the other doctors, and the tests they've done. If you can't help us either—"

"We're going to get to the bottom of this," Chase interrupts, still sounding perfectly calm, reassuring. "I promise. But we need your help for that. Has Caroline ever been tested for food allergies? Or is there anything in particular that she's eaten before these episodes?"

"I thought of that already," Mrs. Whitaker answers quickly. "We switched to lactose free and gluten free. I've been keeping records. I can't think of anything that's a pattern."

"All right." Chase nods once. "We might need to do some allergy tests. Right now we'd like to take an MRI of Caroline's brain."

"Her brain?" Mrs. Whitaker gets to her feet, looking even more distressed. "She has a stomach virus."

"The brain controls the vomiting reflex," says Chase, his tone still surprisingly patient. Cameron realizes that she has assumed he's the type to never talk to patients, never bother with reassurance. But here he is completely in control, flawless, and Cameron finds herself reluctant to speak. "Sometimes it can get confused. If a problem with her brain's behind all this, we'll see it on the MRI."

"Okay," Mrs. Whitaker agrees reluctantly.

But Caroline has other ideas, evidently having heard the entire conversation, now struggling to sit up. "No. I don't want any more tests." There's a terrifying despondence in her eyes; at nine years old, she has already given up.

"It won't hurt," says Chase, going over to sit by the side of the bed so he is at the child's eye level. "It'll be just like being in bed here. You'll lie down, and a big machine will take pictures of your head."

But Caroline does not seem comforted, beginning to cry instead. "I just want to go home."

"I know," says Chase, carefully laying a hand on her shoulder. "Nobody likes being here. Tell you what. Can I at least examine you right here? Then we'll see if we still need to think about doing those tests."

Caroline hesitates for a long moment, then nods. Cameron watches in stunned silence as Chase moves through the routine exam with practiced ease; every movement seems designed to comfort this child. It's like watching magic happen before her eyes: in the span of a few minutes, the girl relaxes. Cameron feels her throat tighten with a strange sense of longing that she cannot fully explain. _This_ is the power she has tried to find in medicine, the ability to alleviate fear, to give hope where there seems to be none. Chase must care far more than he is letting on; this ability does not come by accident or coincidence. For an instant Cameron wonders which is his true façade, arrogant aloofness or this profound compassion.

"We need to take some blood," says Chase at last, surprising Cameron as he gets to his feet. "But I'm fairly certain that'll be the last test we'll need to do. I'll have one of the nurses come by. Then we'll get you feeling better." He smiles once more over his shoulder, then breezes out the door.

"You know what she has?" asks Cameron, breaking her silence as she stumbles after him.

"Pretty sure I do," says Chase, already halfway to the elevator, his step infused with the adrenaline of epiphany.

"Are you going to share?"

"She has Addison's disease," says Chase, as though it ought to have been clear all along. "Skin darkening all over her body. She's been sick for months, there's no way it's from the sun. With this kind of fluid loss, she ought to be white as a sheet."

"It would explain the episodes of nausea and vomiting." Cameron bites her lip, the pieces falling together in her mind until she can see what Chase has already realized. "And her sodium and glucose were low. The ER assumed it was just an imbalance from the repeated vomiting."

"She has Addison's," Chase repeats, grinning excitedly. "House was right. It wasn't a GI problem."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

WARNINGS: sex

* * *

Chapter Three

The inside of the lab looks as though it might have been invaded by a small army of elementary school children. Every horizontal surface is covered in home goods, an assortment of toiletries, and the contents of a very large toy chest. It's well after midnight; the usual staff has gone home hours ago, leaving the building filled with a strange sense of hollowness, as though the darkened corridors might be populated by ghosts, the embodiment of loss and regret.

"I don't understand why House wants us to do this now." Cameron surveys the lab with a feeling of utter hopelessness, the exhaustion of a seventeen hour workday sinking into every pore. It's the first time they have spent more than half a day's work on a case in the four months she's been here, the first time she has seen House become truly fixated beyond logic or reason.

Chase shrugs, sitting heavily on one of the stools and lining up the toiletries along the edge of the bench surface for testing. "The kid started bleeding internally. We need to get to the bottom of it."

"He's stable now," Cameron protests, though she feels a twinge of guilt at her own unprofessionalism. "He'll be monitored all night. We'd be able to think more clearly if we'd had any sleep at all." In any other hospital, these tests would be unavailable until morning, until the regular lab staff was in to perform them. Still, Chase has not complained about the length of their workday or the lateness of the hour, and that makes her feel terribly inadequate. She has always prided herself on diligence, on her ability to get ahead by sheer tenacity if not natural talent.

"House doesn't really care how well _we_ can think," says Chase, not looking up as he labels a series of miniscule test tubes, his handwriting meticulously neat. "Not when he's caught up in a puzzle like this. He just wants us to bring him the information he needs as quickly as possible. He's probably sleeping in his office right now anyway."

"Well, that's great," snaps Cameron, immediately regretting her tone. Chase is completely calm, inscrutable, scarcely even showing any signs of exhaustion. Another misplaced assumption, thinks Cameron. She'd pegged him as lazy because of his casual acceptance of inactivity, but he seems equally at ease working through the night.

"You'll get used to it," says Chase indifferently, opening up a bottle of lotion and using a small spatula to scoop a specimen into one of the test tubes. "Either that or you'll quit."

"Thanks," Cameron retorts, watching him work for a moment, too irritated to focus on the materials she's supposed to be testing. "You're not going to wear gloves? Goggles?"

"What, to test shampoo and makeup?" Chase snorts, snapping the tube neatly shut. "God forbid I might get some soap on my fingers."

"You could contaminate the samples." She's being childish again, but there's something infuriating in his tone, in the way House's constant onslaught of ridicule, of tests, seems to leave him completely unscathed. "And we're looking for toxins. You're not at all concerned about the possibility of exposure?"

Chase shrugs. "Not particularly. None of this is new. If it was toxins, it'd have to be a chronic exposure in large amounts. The little bit I might get on my fingers isn't going to do anything."

"Fine." Cameron turns her back to him, moving to line up the assortment of kitchen items on the edge of the opposite lab bench and reaching for the nearest box of gloves. "Do what you want."

For a few minutes they work in silence, the only sounds various containers opening and closing. Twice Cameron finds herself doubting what she's just done, having to repeat steps out of pure exhaustion. Again she feels her irritation with Chase growing; she is jealous, she realizes. She envies his ability to adapt so seamlessly to any adverse situation, to succeed without even seeming to care. For all of her determination, her passion, she finds herself continually disarmed by criticism, rendered helpless by self-doubt. It seems a terrible injustice that she is so often foiled by good intentions.

"There's no way the kid's parents are getting along as well as they want us to think," says Chase, breaking the silence at last.

"Why, just because they're divorced?" Cameron glances over her shoulder, but he still has his back to her, still intent on his work. "Not everyone who gets divorced ends up hating one another."

Chase exhales in a short puff of bitter air, not quite a scornful laugh. "Right. You're the expert."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Cameron strips off her gloves and drops them into the nearest trashcan, planting her hands on her hips. Over the past few months, she has grown used to Chase's aloofness in the face of her concern and criticism alike, to his superiority on all matters pertaining to the department. But this time his tone has crossed the line into outright standoffishness. It is a shocking change from his usual stoicism, and Cameron realizes she must have struck a nerve. That he has weaknesses, however well-concealed, makes him somehow more intriguing to her.

"I take it your parents are still happily married?" asks Chase, still refusing to turn around.

"Yes." Cameron crosses her arms, suspicion growing.

"Don't judge what you don't know," says Chase. "The parents are just acting friendly with each other for the benefit of their son while he's sick. Which is more than can be said for some."

"I take it your parents _aren't_ still happily married?" asks Cameron, watching the way his shoulders clench.

"This isn't about me," he answers after a moment, and the tension in his voice tells her not to push it any further.

After that comes another stillness, longer than the first. Cameron has let herself be lulled into a daze of tiredness when the accident happens. She has nearly completed her first round of specimen collection when she hears Chase gasp softly. By the time she turns around, he's scrambling for paper towels, evidently having managed to splash himself in the face while attempting to remove a lid from one of the bottles.

Cameron is about to rebuke him for the carelessness of not wearing goggles when she realizes there's something off about the way he's moving. His hands shake violently for a moment as he tries to get the stuff off, and then he's crumpled to the floor before she can comprehend what's just happened. Her first thought as she presses the emergency call button is that he's been exposed to whatever toxin has made the patient sick. But then, in the interminable few seconds while she waits for the response team and crash cart to come, she realizes how labored his breathing has become, sees the cyanotic tinge to his lips.

In this moment, her instincts seize control, driven by vivid memories of her residency in immunology, the endless allergy tests she's seen conducted. Chase's bag is slung over the back of a lab stool, and Cameron scoops it up without a second thought, dumping its contents onto the bench on the desperate chance that this is a contingency he's prepared for. When she finds the epi pen, she feels weak with relief, her own hands shaking as she quickly kneels beside him, pulls back the plunger and injects it into his thigh.

She is about to get back up, to call for help again, when Chase coughs raggedly, eyes fluttering open as he gasps for air. Somehow, he manages to find her hand and hold on, grasp white-knuckled. In the simplicity of this gesture, Cameron feels unspeakable fear.

—

Chase cannot say how much time passes before he awakens in the ER. His head is pounding, and his throat feels as though he might have swallowed steel wool. He is too well aware of what's happened, and his limbs feel heavy with dissipated adrenaline, his skin sticky with drying sweat. It's been a long time since he's had a reaction this bad, almost long enough to forget just how little it takes. That it's happened at work fills him with shame; the last thing he wants is for any of his colleagues to witness weakness on his part.

"Hey."

The sound of Cameron's voice makes Chase jump; he hasn't realized that she is still sitting by the side of his bed. She looks even more exhausted than she had in the lab, a thick, dog-eared novel splayed out in her hands so that the cover is obscured. Chase feels his stomach swim with guilt and embarrassment at her presence. She has likely saved his life, yet irrationally he wishes she had not been there at all, despite the possible consequences.

"What are you doing here?" he asks after a moment, coughing roughly.

"You went into anaphylactic shock," says Cameron, the concern in her voice making his skin crawl with discomfort. "You stopped breathing for almost a minute. They'll have to monitor you overnight, make sure you don't have a secondary reaction." She moves to pour him a cup of water from the pitcher on the tiny side table, and Chase avoids her eyes as he takes it.

"I know," he answers, sipping cautiously. "But that doesn't explain why you're here."

"You could have died!" Cameron exclaims incredulously. She closes the book with a little slap, and sets it on the floor, getting to her feet. There are dark shadows under her eyes, her makeup smudged, and she's pulled her hair into a messy bun, little tendrils escaping down the back of her neck.

"But I didn't," Chase answers stubbornly, struggling to sit up on the gurney. "I'm fine now."

Cameron sighs, clearly exasperated. "What are you allergic to?"

"What does it matter?" Chase runs a hand through his hair; the skin on his face feels oddly too tight. Her concern fills him with a multitude of conflicting emotions: he is accustomed to being alone, to dealing with whatever comes his way without relying on the support of others. Having her here now is at once touching and unsettling.

"You have a severe allergy!" Cameron throws her hands up, edging toward anger now. "You had epi in your bag, so you _knew_ you might need it for something! You have to tell the people around you that you might need help. You can't just _assume_ they'll know what to do when you stop breathing and turn blue! Especially if you're going to be stupid enough to handle unknown substances without any protective gear!"

"What's the point?" Chase explodes at last, frustration overtaking the memory of fear, of his futile struggle to breath. "Who am I supposed to tell? House? He'd probably stand around laughing while I went into a coma. Nobody else sticks around long enough for it to matter."

Cameron is quiet for a moment, regarding him with an expression he can't quite read. Slowly, her expression softens, and she pulls the chair closer to the side of the bed, sitting down again. "Tell _me_. I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

"Strawberries," Chase answers resignedly, feeling ridiculous. "I'm allergic to strawberries. Not usually that difficult to avoid."

Cameron bites her lip and nods. "Strawberry extract is a common ingredient in a lot of cosmetics. Even ones that aren't strawberry-scented."

"Yeah, well, I don't make a habit of using a lot of smelly bath stuff," Chase answers wryly. "And I _definitely_ don't go around squirting myself in the face with it."

Cameron smiles a little at that, finally seeming more relaxed. "They should be able to move you to a real room soon. Can I get you anything?"

Chase opens his mouth to decline, but is interrupted by the head of House's cane poking through the curtain surrounding the bed and pulling it back. Cameron jumps, turning around to eye House warily.

"So, get the lab results yet?" he asks, though his tone says he already knows the answer.

"You know we didn't finish the tests," says Cameron sourly.

"Well, why not?" House uses his cane to pull over another chair from the adjacent curtain area, and sits heavily in it. "We've still got a case to solve."

"Sorry," Cameron answers sarcastically. "Got a little distracted by my colleague being taken to the ER."

"Hmmm." House rests his chin on the head of his cane, feigning a look of thoughtfulness. "Maybe Cuddy was right. I do need three of you. Then we could keep working on the case while you cry at Chase's bedside."

* * *

Reviews are the way to my heart! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTE: Next chapter, the rating of this fic will be changed to M. Please change your filter settings accordingly. :)**

* * *

Chapter Four

Another month passes, filled with clinic duty and yet more games from House. He starts interviewing almost immediately, another excuse to avoid real cases. Cameron buries herself in backlogged paperwork and answering the mail, though Chase is certain no one would comment if she chose to spend her time on more personal pursuits. But she stubbornly refuses to take advantage of the found time, an exercise in self-loathing.

If he's honest with himself, Chase is half hoping that House will not hire anyone else, will grow bored with the interview game after a while. Maddening as Cameron can be at times, Chase finds himself feeling protective of the current departmental dynamic. He likes working with her, he realizes, if what they have done so far can really be considered work. She is vastly different from him both in terms of morals and personality, worlds away from the cookie-cutter types he surrounds himself with on weekends. And yet he feels a strange sense of camaraderie with her, an enjoyment of her company he cannot deny. For all her naïveté, she is at once brilliant and capable, yet to be jaded by the world of painful truths in which they work. The thought of another new colleague leaves Chase feeling vaguely territorial though he cannot articulate why, not even to himself.

The annual oncology benefit falls on a Friday night, after yet another idle day at work. House has been notably absent, to the point that Chase is not even certain he's come in to the hospital at all. It's a welcome reprieve, in a way: he's growing tired of playing pawn to House's interview schemes, and bored with logic puzzles. Ordinarily, he'd be spending this evening in one of the many bars near campus, surrounding himself with strangers. Still, there's something intriguing about the potential to socialize with colleagues for a night, to see everyone dressed up and allowed to exist outside their usual roles at the hospital.

The atrium has been completely transformed during the course of the day, barely recognizable now filled with elegant tables, hors d'oeuvres, and wine glasses. Chase catches his breath, the adrenaline rush of walking into any type of social situation washing over him. This is where he is most comfortable, confident and engaged in the sense of conquest. He collects short-term relationships like trophies, as though having enough might somehow make up for what his life lacks. True intimacy terrifies him; even close friendship seems like a minefield. But faced with this room full of colleagues in cocktail attire, beautiful not-quite-strangers, all he feels is elation.

"Dr. Chase!" Cuddy's voice stops him dead in his tracks before he can make his way over to the makeshift bar. She is wearing a low-cut red dress which makes this entire encounter feel oddly surreal, out of any kind of context his brain is capable of registering. It takes Chase a moment to realize that House is standing with her, and a third person he doesn't recognize.

"Hi," says Chase lamely, feeling entirely derailed. He's come here paradoxically with the intentions of escaping thoughts of work; now he will have to focus on whatever it is Cuddy deems worth discussing.

"Dr. Chase," says Cuddy, in her best diplomatic tone, "this is Dr. Eric Foreman. He's your new teammate."

"Teammate?" House mocks, clearly eager to have this conversation over and go join the poker tournament. "Careful how you phrase things, Cuddy. This is serious medicine, not a contact sport."

"Nice to meet you," says Chase, reaching to shake Foreman's hand and trying to keep the dismay out of his voice. He is dressed more for a business interview than for a benefit, Chase notices. House must have only just made the hiring decision.

"Cuddy said I couldn't come to the party until I made my final hire. So here he is." House shrugs. "I call him Dr. Affirmative Action. Much easier to remember."

"Charming," says Cuddy dryly, rolling her eyes. "But now that you've got your team together, no more excuses. I expect actual productivity from your department. It's been six months since you supposedly started interviewing."

Chase cringes inwardly, hoping that Foreman either has a high tolerance for ridicule or will resign quickly. Much as he dislikes the idea of Foreman joining the team, he also feels protective of the department's reputation. Though he's used to House offending people left and right, somehow this time matters more.

"I went to Hopkins," says Foreman, breaking the awkward silence. "For undergrad and medical school. Then I went straight into specialty training. Neurology. I briefly considered neurosurgery, but I wanted to do something more creative than same old cut and stitch."

"What he really means is that he was too lazy to do the nine year residency required for neurosurgery," says House. He turns to Foreman without waiting for a response. "And nobody's impressed by your academic victories. Chase's dad is famous and everything. He's grown up immune to egos."

"Oh," says Foreman knowingly. "Your father is _the_ Dr. Chase? Must be a lot to aspire to. He literally rewrote the book on rheumatology."

"I know," Chase deadpans, suddenly even more desperate to get away from this conversation. "I _was_ there." He's come to the other side of the globe to escape his father's shadow, yet the world of medicine is still too small for him to ever truly avoid it. The oversimplification of his parents' life is unbearable, yet the thought of attempting to make anyone understand the truth is a more painful prospect still.

"Can I go play now, Mom?" asks House, looking back and forth between Cuddy and the poker table. "I did all my chores like you told me." For once, Chase is glad of his rudeness, of the diversion from discussing his own background.

"Fine," says Cuddy, clearly exasperated with this conversation. "Go."

The two of them head for the poker table together, sitting down on either side of Wilson, who is already playing. Finding himself alone with Foreman, Chase feels a sense of trepidation again. He wants to spend this evening relaxing, losing himself in alcohol and flirtation, not giving a tour of the hospital or discussing his schooling.

"I think I should be heading out," says Foreman, as though sensing Chase's reluctance. "I'm not exactly dressed for a party. And I was only planning to come for the interview anyway."

"Okay," Chase answers, hoping his response isn't too rapid. "I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Right," says Foreman, already beginning to walk away. "Monday."

Taking a breath and running a hand through his hair, Chase makes his way to the bar, feeling instantly better with a glass in hand. Sipping his drink, he pauses for a moment, surveying the room again and attempting to get his bearings. He's accustomed to seeing the residents at the local bars, and sometimes even the nursing staff. He's well aware that he has a reputation in the hospital, but that does not bother him.

For an instant he does not recognize Cameron as he spots her from across the room. She is wearing a short black dress that leaves little to the imagination, her dark hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders. But it's her expression that surprises him the most; she is completely relaxed, wine glass in hand, laughing with two of the male ER residents.

Chase finds himself drawn to her, making his way across the room before his brain has even registered what his legs are doing. Watching the younger men with her, he feels a gnawing sense of jealousy, though he tells himself that's ridiculous. Up until this moment, he has had absolutely no interest in her beyond a professional relationship. He is certain that she feels nothing toward him besides a vague sense of disdain. She is so entirely serious about her work that he has assumed there was no time or energy left over in her life for anything resembling fun. But now, in this night of blurred guidelines and eclipsed roles, the possibilities seem endless.

"Looking to rob the cradle?" Chase asks, as soon as he's within earshot. He gives the residents a meaningful look, then offers Cameron his best smile.

"What are you doing spending your Friday night at the hospital?" she asks, avoiding his question. "I would've thought you'd be out partying." Her cheeks are flushed, and Chase thinks that this can't be her first glass of wine.

"Why not multitask?" he challenges, stepping forward and subtly shouldering the closer of the two residents out of the way. They look at each other for a moment, then retreat together, seeming to take the hint. "A party's a party, right?"

"Right," says Cameron, taking another sip of wine. She is wearing perfume that makes his head swim. "And you came over here to talk to _me_ so you could preserve the atmosphere of being at work?" There's something just a little bit adversarial in her tone, but not discouraging. She is enjoying this, though she isn't about to make it easy for him.

Chase smiles again, feeling his anticipation grow. "Maybe I came over here just because I _wanted_ to talk to you."

"Right," says Cameron, coyly. "So either you've decided that it's finally worth trying your legendary act on me, or you think I'm an easy target. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended."

"On the contrary," says Chase, leaning ever so slightly closer, "Maybe I like a challenge."

"Oh, and you think I'm a challenge?" Cameron finishes her wine and sets the glass on the table, crossing her arms and rocking back on her heels.

For a moment, Chase finds himself fixated on the curves of her legs, the tantalizing way the hem of her skirt falls. He has known all along that she was beautiful in a quiet, unconventional sort of way, but until now she has dressed in a way as to all but conceal her looks. Tonight she seems radiant, alluring, almost an entirely different person. This is a side of herself she does not often allow to be seen.

"I think you like to challenge me," says Chase, at last, taking a long swallow of his drink to ground himself again.

"And here I thought you liked things easy," Cameron retorts, just a hint of suggestiveness in her voice, the upward quirk of her lips.

"Only when it comes to work," Chase teases. "Work easy, play hard. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

Cameron laughs. "Maybe in Australia."

"Well, we definitely play hard in Australia." Were she a complete stranger, he might try to play up his accent, capitalize on the American attraction to exotic foreigners. But in this instance, he has a feeling that would only end in total mockery. "When I was in med school, I used to swim with the great whites. Out on the open water. Great way to get the adrenaline going, really have a good workout after all those hours of studying."

"Nice try." Cameron snorts, clearly not buying the story for even a second. "Was that before or after you boxed the kangaroo and fed your pet koala?"

"Right, you've got it." Chase laughs and shrugs, telling himself the story was worth a try. "What about you? What do you do for fun?"

"I hang around at hospital benefits indulging my coworkers," Cameron answers glibly.

"That sounds awfully dull," says Chase. She is beginning to look a little distracted by the silent auction table, he notices. It's time to move this conversation beyond casual flirtation if he's going to get anywhere. "We could leave. Then you could indulge your coworker somewhere else."

"Somewhere else like your apartment?" asks Cameron, a subtle shift coming over her. She is entirely in control of this encounter, Chase realizes, and has been all along, enjoying the game but with no intention of letting him win. "Nice try. I'll see you on Monday."

Just that quickly, the moment is gone.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

WARNINGS: sex

NOTE: Are people still reading this? Please let me know if you are, and whether you want me to continue. I know this is a really AU concept, and I'm hoping I haven't pushed that too far here.

* * *

Chapter Five

It's gotten dark by the time Cameron makes her way to Chase's apartment, crickets chirping and late-summer cicadas singing all around. The white noise of seasons changing, lush growth shifting seamlessly into the fallow of autumn. It takes her scarcely ten minutes to find his apartment; they live within a few miles of each other, though it's taken her six months working with him to realize this fact. Sitting in her parked car at the curb, she wonders what else she might have failed to notice about Chase.

She is forced to admit that the case has aroused a plethora of emotions in her, most of which she's been trying to keep buried for the better part of a decade. To House, Brandon's illness has been nothing more than a puzzle. To Chase and Foreman, it's been a source of entertainment and at times humor. And though Cameron is not immune to the sheer ludicrousness of a college boy falling ill during sex, she cannot shake the sense of déjà vu while listening to the now-happy couple plan their upcoming wedding.

The game she's played with Chase this day began in jest, a simple experiment designed to prove Foreman wrong. Despite his attempts at flirtation at the cancer benefit a few weeks ago, she finds herself surprised to learn that he has any sort of genuine attraction to her, even be it purely sexual. She has known Chase—both by reputation and personally—long enough to be confident that he has no interest in any sort of real relationship. And that is what makes him the perfect choice for the kind of distraction she is looking for tonight.

For a long moment after she knocks, there is silence, nothing but the sounds of the night which surround her. Cameron swallows a wave of uncertainty, wondering whether she has come too late. It's the middle of the week, unlikely that Chase would be out, but she is forced to admit she doesn't know his habits well enough to be entirely certain. By the time he does open the door, her heart is pounding, and she's having trouble remembering exactly how she's convinced herself to come here tonight.

Chase seems equally stunned to see her. He's wearing sweats and a threadbare old t-shirt, his hair tousled, which makes Cameron wonder whether he was already in bed for the night. Still, seeing him like this is somehow oddly endearing, more genuine than the act he puts on at work.

"Hi," he says at last, sounding vaguely cautious, as though expecting her to order him to go back into work. "What are you doing here? Did House call?"

"No," answers Cameron quickly, heart pounding in her ears. "I think—we should have sex." The words come out in a rush, before she's had a chance to second-guess herself and decide otherwise.

"You—_what_?" Chase stammers, looking as though she might as well have just told him that House has decided to give up Vicodin and adopt a puppy.

"We should have sex," Cameron repeats, more confidently this time. Chase is used to casual sex, she reminds herself. And while the proposal she's making is probably more direct than what he's accustomed to, it's in essence exactly what he goes looking for every weekend.

For another moment, Chase simply gapes at her in silence, running a hand through his hair, which only serves to make it stand up at odder angles. "Uh—come inside."

Biting her lip, Cameron follows as he steps back, holding the door for her. The interior of Chase's apartment reminds her of the way he selects his clothes. Everything seems mismatched, almost dissonant, as though he's chosen each piece individually, without any thought to the quality of the whole.

"D'you want a drink or something?" asks Chase, raking his fingers through his hair again. A nervous habit, Cameron notices.

"I'm fine," she declines quickly, then wonders whether she ought to have accepted. She has no idea how these sorts of things are typically done; nothing about this situation is familiar to her. When faced with uncertainty, she has always found it best to feign confidence, to be as decisive and direct as possible. Silently, she reminds herself of these things now, taking a breath and steeling herself. If she is going to get what she wants here tonight, she knows she'll have to convince Chase that there is not one shred of doubt in her mind.

Chase nods stiffly, then crosses his arms and rocks back on his heels ever so slightly, as if trying to shake himself out of a daze. "You want to have sex," he says at last. "With me."

"Yes," Cameron answers immediately, shoving her hands into her pockets and wishing she'd accepted the drink, if only to have something to occupy her hands now. "I don't want anything complicated. You like sex. I like sex. Did you know that a healthy and active sex life can improve everything from immune function to dopamine secretion in the brain?"

"I—think I remember that day in med school, yeah," stammers Chase, still looking at her as though she might have sprouted a second head, or developed some symptom odd enough to land her in House's office. "Why me?"

"Because I think you're the kind of man who can appreciate the simplicity of this arrangement." Cameron smiles slowly, certainty growing. She recognizes the slight tension in his lips, the way his eyes are reflecting the dim light. She has seen this look on him before, at the cancer benefit when he'd tried to seduce her. He wants what she is offering, unquestionably, but doesn't want her to know it quite yet.

"You think I'm into casual sex, you mean," counters Chase, though not unpleasantly.

"That's what everyone tells me," answers Cameron.

"And why now?" Chase presses. His tone reminds her of House; this has become a puzzle to him, and one which has him deeply intrigued. "A few weeks ago, you wouldn't give me the time of day. Now you show up on my doorstep, demanding instant gratification? Or was it just about things being on your terms?"

"I'm looking for a distraction," she says simply, hoping he'll leave it at that. He has never seemed particularly interested in her life or needs besides what it takes to keep the department running in some fashion resembling normalcy.

But Chase surprises her, his face shifting into the softness of concern. He takes one step forward, laying his hand hesitantly on her arm. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Don't," Cameron answers sharply, though she doesn't pull her arm away. "I gave you my terms. I'm just looking for uncomplicated sex. No romance. No—concern. Just sex. Do you want to do this or not?"

Chase is quiet again for the space of a few breaths, a smile spreading slowly over his face. "Hell yeah, I want to."

There is yet another pause; this entire night feels more punctuated by silences than by words or actions. Cameron realizes that she has only envisioned her plan up until this point. Now that she has gotten Chase to agree to her proposal, she has absolutely no idea what to do next. Taking a breath, Cameron forces herself to meet his eyes, searching for some form of guidance. This is his territory, and she feels a stranger in it.

"You're sure about this?" Chase asks softly, a hint of concern slipping into his voice again, reminiscent of the way she's seen him address particularly fearful patients.

"Yes," she answers firmly, taking a step toward him. Somehow, inexplicably, it feels important that the first motion be his now that she has presented her terms.

Chase hesitates for only a moment longer before leaning forward to kiss her, cautiously at first, then more deeply. Cameron lets her eyes fall closed, the subtle scent of his soap and aftershave washing over her and making the ground under her feet swim. He kisses her again as she slides her hands up his back, his movements more confident now, almost aggressive.

Cameron steps backward willingly as he directs her toward the couch, her heart pounding in her temples once again. She remembers now the exhilaration of her earlier conversation, of the way her words made his breathing quicken and his voice catch in his throat. The way she'd been able to see the effect she was having on him, even while doubting that he would so much as notice.

Pausing when the backs of her knees hit the edge of the couch cushions, Cameron pulls her shirt over her head, laughing when Chase's eyes widen again. "What, didn't think I was serious?"

"Just enjoying the view," he answers smoothly, recovering his composure and removing his own shirt. "But I think you're doing my job for me." Deftly, he sweeps her hair out of the way and unhooks her bra single-handed.

"Nice trick," Cameron teases, reaching for the drawstring on his sweatpants and simply toying with it for a moment before pulling it loose. Chase groans low in his throat as she pushes his pants and boxers down his hips, and the sound sends a wave of desire through her like a shock.

"Very aggressive," Chase growls, neatly undoing her belt buckle and sending her jeans to the floor in a heap as well. "I like it."

"Yeah?" Cameron takes the words as a challenge, lunging up to kiss him again, and turning them until his back is to the couch. Grabbing hold of his shoulders, she shoves lightly, and Chase takes the hint, sinking down onto the cushions. He is already breathing hard as Cameron straddles his lap, and she shudders as his erection brushes against her inner thigh.

Leaning forward, Cameron trails a line of kisses across the curve of his neck and clavicle, reveling in the noises he makes in response. Chase strokes one hand along her side, tracing the line of her ribs before finding her breast. She moans into his shoulder at the sensation, surprising herself. It has been a very long time since she's allowed herself this kind of release, escape into pure physical pleasure. This sort of deceptive closeness makes it easy to forget everything from which she's been running, the parts of herself she's tried to bury very much alive but no longer immediately threatening.

"Ready?" Chase asks at last, grabbing his wallet from the end table and fumbling to pull a condom from it. His breath is coming raggedly, and there's something just a little bit wild in his eyes.

Cameron nods, biting her lip and groaning as he guides her down. She keeps still for a moment, elated by the sense of control, and the look of need on his face. When she starts to move her hips at last, she keeps the motions quick and a little forceful. There is nothing tender about this moment, nothing sweet or romantic. Purely raw desire, driven by physical hunger alone. She tells herself these things as the rhythm reaches fever pitch, and she lets herself be lost in ecstasy. Chase reaches his own climax a few moments later, slumping back against the couch and breathing heavily. He keeps one arm wrapped around her, as though afraid she might lose her balance. For a moment Cameron allows herself to rest her weight against him, her head pillowed on his chest, despite her promise to herself that this will not involve any sort of emotional attachment.

As soon as she feels the strength returning to her legs, Cameron pushes herself up, quickly retrieving her clothes from the floor and pulling on her underwear.

Chase watches her lazily, seeming in no hurry to move or retrieve his own discarded sweats. "Was that an adequate distraction for you?"

"Yes," Cameron answers curtly, then realizes she's being overly hasty, to the point of rudeness. "Thanks."

Chase nods, grinning drowsily, and hauling himself off the couch at last. "There's just one thing I don't get."

"What?" asks Cameron, straightening her shirt.

Chase frowns ever so slightly, the look he gets when he's discovered an anomaly in a case. "Didn't you say you were uncomfortable about sex?"

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

WARNINGS: sex

NOTE: Thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter! The next update will be slightly delayed due to moving and more grad school admissions tests. I'm hoping to have it up in a little less than two weeks, but please bear with me.

* * *

Chapter Six

Chase is on his way out of the hospital when he spots her across the lobby.

He's spent the past interminable few hours in the NICU, ensuring that all surviving babies are now out of the woods, the treatment clearing the virus from their systems. He's showered in the locker room before changing back into his street clothes, but no amount of scrubbing can slough the weighty exhaustion from his skin, the muscles in his legs feeling rubbery and too loose. He's been fantasizing all night about the moment when he might finally be able to walk out of here and get some decent sleep, yet now he finds himself utterly transfixed by the sight of Cameron, unable to simply continue on his way toward the parking lot.

She is watching the Hartig family as they walk out through the front doors, both parents smiling exhausted, foolish grins of immense relief. Chase knows this is the sort of moment they all ought to cherish, the instant in which everything they have been through in the past few days might finally feel gratifying. Yet all he can focus on now is the look of utter defeat in Cameron's stance, the way even her ghost of a smile seems still permeated by heartbreak. Everything about her has been just a little bit desperate during this case, a part of her obviously sharing in the grief of helpless parents watching their newborn children snatched away by the specter of disease.

She is not like this with every case, Chase thinks. She is given to profound empathy, certainly, perhaps more than would be considered wise by most doctors' standards. And yet her feelings for these patients seem to go deeper still: he has never seen her so utter debilitated on the job before. Even now, when the crisis has ended, she seems unfathomably traumatized. Curiosity piqued, Chase abandons his plans of a quick departure, and backtracks to where she's standing at the foot of the stairs just as the Hartigs exit into the night.

"It's late," says Chase, simply to catch her attention. Her gaze seems to be very far off, even after she's turned to look at him.

"Your point being?" asks Cameron, sounding at once drained and a little defensive.

"Just wondering what you're still doing here." He moves to stand beside her, surveying the lobby rather than facing her directly, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Paperwork," says Cameron unconvincingly. "And you're still here too. What's the sudden fascination with people working late?"

Chase shrugs. "It was a hard case."

"All of House's cases are hard," says Cameron, her voice very carefully devoid of any emotion.

"You know that's not what I meant," Chase presses. "And this one was especially hard for you. Any particular reason?"

"Well," she answers slowly, her voice now edged in a sarcasm reminiscent of House, "most human beings find it upsetting to stand by and watch as babies die. Maybe that particular gene skipped your generation."

"Come on, there's no reason to be nasty," says Chase, slightly stung, but more intrigued than anything else. Cameron continues to be a study in contradictions, by degrees filled with patient compassion, and ready to snap at the slightest provocation. He has not had any opportunity to talk to her beyond work since the night she'd showed up on his doorstep asking for sex, nor has she given any indication that she wants a repeat performance, beyond her original insinuation that this is to be a standing arrangement rather than a one-time proposal. He finds it fascinating that in spite of her lofty romantic ideals, she is capable of discussing sex so matter-of-factly, as though they might be negotiating a business deal. If he's honest with himself, these incongruities are what's drawn him to her tonight, along with the unlikely thought that they might be able to lose the painful realities of this case in each other.

"You're right," says Cameron after a moment, taking a slow breath. "That was uncalled for. I'm sorry. I'm just—tired."

"We're all tired," Chase acknowledges gently. Remembering the look of helpless grief he'd seen in her during the case, he feels inexplicably protective of her once more, an uneasy throwback to the day they'd first met. "Come on. Can I buy you a drink?"

"No," Cameron answers quickly, then hesitates. Glancing around once, she leans close to his ear, lowering her voice. "I'm parked two rows in front of you. Follow me back to my apartment." With that, she turns and heads straight for the front doors of the hospital, not so much as looking back to see whether he's chosen to take her up on her offer.

Stumbling a little in his haste, Chase rushes after her, his feet feeling uncoordinated and too large through the haze of exhaustion. Still, there's an undercurrent of adrenaline fueling him now, the thrill of the note-quite-known more addictive and potent than any stimulant. He manages to make it to his car just as Cameron starts hers. The parking lot is nearly empty at this hour, save for the spots reserved for ER staff, and Chase is relieved when she waits for him to be ready before driving off. Her apartment is scarcely ten minutes from the hospital, within walking distance of his own, were it still summer. Chase finds himself memorizing the route, and hoping that he'll have need of this information in the future.

He is unable to define the way he feels about Cameron, he realizes as he follows her up the steps and into the interior hallway of her building. He likes working with her, unquestionably, finding in her an unexpected equal, maddening as her strict adherence to inconsistent morals may be at times. And he's finding increasingly that he enjoys her company besides; she seems transformed in his eyes since the cancer benefit, so that now he cannot look at her without seeing the endless possibilities. She is a beautiful enigma, as yet incomprehensible to him, but alluringly fascinating all the same.

Cameron's hands shake as she unlocks the door to her apartment, once again betraying the vulnerability which lurks beneath her façade of control. Chase sucks in a breath as he follows her inside, feeling a fresh thrill of adrenaline prickle up the nape of his neck. He's scarcely caught a glimpse of the interior before Cameron recaptures his complete attention. Throwing her keys haphazardly toward the couch, she shrugs out of her coat and lunges to kiss him, almost before he's realized what's happening. Chase freezes, momentarily too shocked to respond. He ought not to be surprised by her cheekiness after the last time. Still, there's something different about her now, more raw and perhaps a little bit reckless. The first time she'd been responding to a challenge, as though sex might be a sort of competition. But tonight, he thinks, she is moving purely by instinct.

"Whoa," Chase manages at last, taking her gently by the shoulders when she leans back to catch her breath. He finds himself feeling protective yet again, wondering whether this is really what she wants, or if she is simply grasping blindly at any sort of distraction.

"What?" asks Cameron, already breathing quickly. "Isn't this what you came here for?"

"Well—yeah." Chase swallows hard, trying to remember what his point is. Cameron has already gotten his pants undone, slipping her fingers into his boxers and threatening to make him forget that he has any reservations about this at all. "I just—You're tired. You were upset. Are you sure about this? We don't have to—we could just—talk, or something."

"Shut up," Cameron answers huskily, and closes her hand around his cock in a way that makes any thought of further protestations vanish from his mind in an instant.

"Okay," Chase hears himself blurt, his pulse pounding in his temples so loudly that it feels as though his own voice is echoing off the inside of his skull. All he can think is how much he wants this, how quickly and completely he's become addicted to her touch, to the sense that this is a secret side of her no one else would be able to imagine, let alone see. He has always had trouble controlling himself when it comes to physical pleasure; it is at once his downfall and his salvation, though he refuses to even consider the notion that his desperate hunger might stem from a deeper loneliness.

Cameron lets go after a few tantalizing, agonizing moments, letting his pants fall to the floor in a heap. Chase steps out of them clumsily, nearly stumbling when the hem catches on his shoes. But she doesn't even seem to notice, stepping gracefully out of her heels and stripping off her slacks and panties in one fluid motion. Chase tries to catch his breath, to force himself to focus, but Cameron is already moving again, throwing her shirt toward the couch and pulling a chair out from her small dining table. Chase has barely managed to finish undressing himself when she takes hold of his arm, directing him toward it.

"Sit," she instructs, and the note of authority in her voice sends a shock of desire straight to his groin.

Chase obeys immediately, his knees feeling weak as he falls back into the chair. Cameron is standing naked above him, and there's a wildness about her that is breathtaking. As if sensing his scrutiny, she pulls the elastic from her ponytail, letting her hair fall loose and slightly snarled around her shoulders. Her mascara is smudged, deepening the natural shadows under her eyes, but Chase thinks that in these imperfections he has never seen her look quite so beautiful.

He brings one hand up to trace the curve of her spine as she straddles his lap, her skin already glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Chase tips his head back when her lips find his neck, groaning low in his throat and closing his eyes. Tracing his fingertips up her inner thigh, he strokes slowly, feeling his cock jump in response to her needy gasp.

And then she is moving again, too quickly for him to follow, producing a condom from somewhere and rolling it down. Chase cries out roughly as she takes him inside herself without warning. Her movements are quick and abrupt once again, all functionality, little sensuality. Still, he closes his eyes again, instantly lost in the sensation all the same. For an instant he finds himself wondering what she would be like in a real relationship, where sex was allowed to communicate love. He is not certain he would have the ability to know the difference. But he banishes the thought quickly, already struggling to maintain the rhythm of his hips meeting hers, utter physical and emotional exhaustion taking its toll. Gasping for breath, Chase slips his hand between her legs again, stroking quickly. Cameron kisses him messily as she comes, her cry muffled against his lips, the surprise and uncertainty taking him over the edge with her.

They are both still for a long time after, a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and forgotten torments. Chase wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding steady as her body shakes. When she gets to her feet again at last, the façade is back in place, her features all impassivity.

"You okay?" Chase asks quietly, aware that the question will irritate her, but needing the reassurance all the same.

"Fine," says Cameron flatly, retrieving her clothes from the floor without putting them back on. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

"What, you're not kicking me out?" asks Chase. He fully expects to be rebuffed for the question, unable to resist the gentle ribbing. If he's honest with himself, it's sort of hot watching her get annoyed.

But instead this time she simply shrugs. "Sleep on the couch if you want. I'm not going to be the one responsible for you falling asleep at the wheel." Bending, she pulls a blanket from the top of a stack of folded laundry, and tosses it in his direction before vanishing into the bedroom.

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Feedback is always appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

WARNINGS: sex

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Chapter Seven

It's all Chase can manage to walk into the chapel for the Christmas Eve service without getting up and running away. If he's honest with himself, he's come here tonight as a sort of test, to see whether any part of him might still belong to or welcome this world of faith, of familiar carols and the earthy-sweet scent of incense burning.

But as he stands with the wall to his back, the day's tension still cramping his shoulders, he finds himself unable to divorce this service from the memories of so many others. He feels haunted, out of place in time, as though at any moment his mother might be reaching out from beside him to catch his hand or pat his shoulder - small tokens of affection granted almost solely in the context of worship.

As the duration of the service stretches out before him, Chase is no longer entirely aware of what's being said, simply counting the seconds ticking by on the shiny silver face of his wristwatch, measuring the time left until he can bolt out into the chill of this silent night and be about the business of forgetting. He carries his coat folded in his arms as he strides quickly toward his car, the frigid air stinging his cheeks and bringing him back into the moment. He is unaccustomed to the bitterness of the winter weather; it seems incongruous with the familiarity of the holidays. Between the memories stirred by this case and the barren, snow-covered landscape, he feels wistful for a home which no longer exists, a longing for a family shattered years ago. He has not been homesick in the time since he's moved to Princeton, at least not until tonight.

For a moment he contemplates getting drunk, but dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it's come to him. He makes it a strict rule for himself never to drink alone, though it seems thus far that he's managed to escape his mother's genetic misfortune. Still, the thought of going home now to his empty apartment seems unbearable. And so he finds himself on Cameron's doorstep, knuckles cracked raw by the dry breath of winter, waiting to see if she is home.

Nearly a month has passed since she first appeared at his apartment bearing the terms of their current arrangement. Since then she has continued to initiate the occasional descent into distraction, once or twice every week. She has made no sign of wanting to stop, and yet Chase finds himself continually surprised when her summons come. But until now he's been content to sit back and let her take the lead, sensing that she needs to be in control of whatever it is she's offering him. Now, as he waits, he feels a strange sense of anxiety, fear of being rejected though he isn't even sure what exactly it is he's looking for.

Cameron is wearing red flannel pajama pants when she answers the door, and a gray threadbare sweatshirt. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she's in glasses, looking worlds different from her usual crisp appearance at work. Chase catches his breath, feeling a strange sense of intimacy in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" asks Cameron, crossing her arms over her chest and shivering in the draft from outside.

It has started snowing again, and Chase brushes a light dusting of fine flakes from his hair, feeling as though their dampness has saturated his very being. "I'm looking for a distraction," he says, repeating the phrase now forever etched in his memory.

For a moment, Cameron looks as though she can't decide what to make of this situation. Her gaze feels as though it cuts straight through his façade of confidence, to the lonesome melancholy which lies beneath. Chase tenses, listening to his heart beating in his temples, feeling it fluttering in his chest as though it might be trying to break free. He does not want Cameron to know that he is looking for anything more than pure uncomplicated sex this night, scarcely wants to admit that possibility to himself. And yet she is alone tonight too, he realizes. That simple fact seems somehow monumental.

"You woke me up," says Cameron after a long silence, though her tone sounds strange, as though she still can't quite decide whether she wants to be accusatory. "And it's Christmas Eve."

"Then I guess it's good I woke you up," Chase answers cautiously, feeling apprehensive because he can't read her. "You ought to be celebrating." He has always had excellent intuition when it comes to other people; it's how he's learned to gain control of any conversation, to move effortlessly from one brief fling to the next, never allowed himself to become too entrapped. But with Cameron everything feels different, off-kilter; she operates by a logic foreign and intriguing to him.

"By having sex with you?" Cameron looks skeptical, but she steps back at last, allowing him entry into the warmth of her apartment.

The television is on, Chase notices. That means she must either be lying or have fallen asleep on the couch. Both possibilities seem to have some crucial meaning, though he still can't seem to discern exactly what that might be.

"Well—yeah," Chase stammers, confidence faltering as he looks around her apartment, catching sight of the small Christmas tree, well-decorated and surrounded by a small assortment of brightly-colored gifts. He has neither decorations nor presents in his apartment, a fact which seems an important distinction. Cameron might be at home alone tonight, but she still has both holiday cheer and a family with which to share it, however far away they may be at the moment. "That was the idea. I mean, we don't—have to. If you don't want to. I could just—go."

But Cameron is already pushing his coat off his shoulders, fingers quickly loosening his tie. Her reluctance has been simply a test, it seems, whether to gauge his intentions or break down his bravado he is unsure.

"You came all the way here in the snow," Cameron says against his lips, undoing buttons faster than he can keep track of. "You were really going to just give up that easily?"

"Did you want me to?" asks Chase, rolling her sweatshirt over her head. There's a slight chill that even her heated apartment cannot dispel, and goosebumps erupt along the smooth skin of her chest as he bares it to the air.

"No," says Cameron breathlessly, pushing his pants down his hips and grazing her teeth lightly along the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder.

She has learned quickly exactly what he likes, and Chase tips his head back, groaning in response. "Then what was the point? Just to play with me?"

Cameron pauses, going still in the near-frantic motions which have become their familiar dance. She looks up at him in the dim light of the television, a strange intensity in her eyes he has not seen before. "I want to know what this means to you."

Chase freezes, unable to answer that question yet, not even for himself. He knows now without question that what he feels for Cameron runs deeper than anything resembling his experiences with his usual weekend conquests. Still he cannot say whether she is a friend, or something less, or perhaps something more. He knows only that he does not want this to end, cannot bear for the moment to be sullied by a misspoken confession or overstepped boundary. And so he does not answer, instead lifting her into his arms and carrying her toward the bedroom, a gesture bolder than any he has made with her before.

Cameron makes a little noise of surprise, but she does not protest, settling naked on her back against the pillows, almost as though deliberately laying herself out for the taking. Her eyes are filled with an unmistakable lust as she regards him; there's something aggressive even in her submission, like a masterful predator lying in wait to assess his next move.

Slowly Chase positions himself between her legs, curling his tongue around the familiar swell of her hipbone. The skin of her inner thigh is silky smooth, and he ghosts his fingers along it, delighting in the sound of her soft gasp. Cameron's breath is already coming raggedly by the time he begins stroking with his tongue, her hips rocking slightly to meet his touch, and Chase grinds his erection into the mattress, struggling to focus.

When he senses that she is nearing her limit he pulls back, taking satisfaction from her frustrated cry of protest. Slowly he crawls up her body, kissing her once, roughly, before positioning himself. Cameron takes hold of his hips, looking him straight in the eyes as she guides him down. Chase moans as he sinks into her, the chill and the solitude of the night finally forgotten. He closes his eyes as he starts to move, more slowly this time than ever before, allowing himself to truly savor the sensations.

Cameron laces her fingers into his hair, surprising him when she draws his head to her shoulder. For one instant Chase wonders whether she feels the loneliness too, whether she might secretly be as grateful for his companionship tonight as he is for hers. But that is a dangerous line of thinking, and he stops himself just as soon as he's begun, grounding himself again in the physical and allowing all reason to be lost. Cameron reaches her climax a few moments later, raking her nails over his back. Chase presses his nose into her neck, groaning against her skin as he comes.

For a long time there is silence in the room, punctuated only by the soft pattering of snow against the windows. The wind has picked up again outside, howling forlornly, and Chase feels an unexpected stab of sadness with the realization that he will be expected to leave soon. But Cameron is endlessly unpredictable, and she catches his arm when he moves to sit up at last.

"Wait," she says, her voice sounding especially hushed in the darkness of the room.

"What?" asks Chase, not daring make any assumptions for fear of changing her mind before she's even had the chance to disclose her thoughts.

"Stay here."

Chase swallows, feeling his heart jump precipitously. A fresh wave of adrenaline washes over him, unlike any he's felt in a very long time. He _wants_ this, he realizes, this undefined sense of welcome into the most intimate spaces of her life. And though that insight sets off a chorus of alarm bells at the back of his mind, he is habitually bad at resisting temptation.

"You mean—_here_, here?" he asks at last, half expecting her to banish him to the couch.

"It's cold," Cameron answers simply. She pauses for a moment, then turns over onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to watch him in the dark. "You were alone tonight. No plans?"

Chase shrugs, tensing. He feels at once a longing to tell her truth, and a terrible trepidation at the very thought of her learning the reality of his life. "Can't exactly fly home to Australia for a long weekend," he says evasively.

"Oh." Cameron's brow furrows, as though she might actually have forgotten this very basic fact about him. "I guess not. But—no parties this year? Nothing?"

"We worked late," he answers, toying with the idea of telling her about the service he's attended, but deciding that would be unwise. "What about you? You're alone too. You didn't have any plans either?"

Cameron bites her lip, looking strangely vulnerable. "I was going to fly home. But—we worked late, like you said. And there's a blizzard in Chicago."

Chase nods, mentally filing away this bit of information about her. He feels a surprising deep sympathy for her, overpowering the familiar bitterness at other people's ease with these things he does not have. Silently, he slips an arm around her shoulders, holding his breath. This time, Cameron doesn't push him away.

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Feedback is always appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

TITLE: Beginning Now (8/9)

WARNINGS: sex

**NOTE: Only one more chapter after this! Then I have another long, much more plot-based future fic idea in the works. Please let me know if you'd be interested in reading that!**

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Chapter Eight

Walking back out into the cold, Cameron feels utterly drained, every modicum of resolve she's held onto during this case spent. She cannot seem to shake the image of Elise Snow, deathly ill and surrounded by the chaos of her rapidly-dissolving marriage. This is not her own misfortune, and yet Cameron feels a grief for the state of this stranger's life which she can't quite seem to shake. That Elise has been unfaithful with her husband's best friend seems almost a message from the universe.

Memories seem to cling to Cameron's skin, a kind of creeping chill that even the thick wool of her coat cannot dispel. It's like looking back in time at her own weaknesses, the demons she could never quite drown out even in the face of her husband's impending death. Watching this couple buffeted about by the tide of unfaithfulness revealed, Cameron can't help but picture where things might stand had she been unable to resist temptation.

Climbing into her car and watching snowflakes fall as the sun hangs lower on the horizon, she tries to swallow her doubts. Never before has she questioned her steadfast avoidance of anything more than a friendship with Joe. In the past decade she has scarcely even allowed herself to speak to him, save for the occasional Christmas card or casual greeting on a birthday. But today she feels enveloped by a strange uncertainty, the ghosts of what-ifs tangling icy fingers through her gut. She is alone today because of her fear and respect for a relationship lost, she knows. Because she has forced herself to cope with the pain of grieving in solitude. Because she has been too afraid to move on, even now, years later. Had she allowed herself to be with Joe at any point, she thinks, she might not be so alone now. The very thought makes her physically ill, the realization that this is even a prospect she's considering making her stomach churn and her skin crawl.

Unable to sit still in her car any longer, Cameron turns the key and drives, through the soft white slush of wet snow against her windshield. For once, she allows her thoughts to wander, focusing on anything and everything besides where she is actually going. She doesn't stop driving until she realizes that she is in front of Chase's building, carefully choosing one of the few parking spaces that is still free of ice. She pulls her keys from the ignition and practically sprints up the walkway, not allowing herself time to analyze or doubt this decision. Her instincts have brought her here, and if she's honest with herself, she's come to crave the simple oblivion of her time with Chase.

He is wearing sweatpants when he opens the door, and a striped orange sweater which reminds Cameron of the sort of thing that might be unearthed from her grandfather's closet. But he's also smiling, more genuinely than she's seen in a long time, and for this moment, that's all that matters.

"What?" Cameron asks, feeling some of the tension lift from her shoulders. Chase's expression looks as though he might be privy to some sort of secret, and it intrigues her.

"I thought you might be coming by tonight," he answers, stepping back to let her into the entryway.

The answer surprises her, and Cameron feels yet another set of emotions bubbling up to mix with her customary nervous anticipation at seeing Chase. It bothers her that he's been able to read her discomfort so easily, that he's getting to know her habits at all. That is outside the boundaries she's planned for this relationship, and yet she finds herself reluctant to do anything to stop it. Chase is clearly concerned for her yet again, and where she's found his past sympathy threatening, now it is a tantalizing comfort. Her opinion of him has been shifting undeniably, so subtly that she has scarcely realized it until this moment. But now, remembering the strange veiled loneliness in his eyes on Christmas Eve, she thinks that he might be able to appreciate her feelings, to offer the companionship she so desperately craves without prying too far.

And so for once, against all of her better judgment, instead of questioning further, Cameron simply steps forward over the threshold and kisses him deeply. This time Chase does not react with shock or even surprise. Instead he moves with absolute confidence, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other coming up to tangle in her hair. The cold seems to vanish instantly, even as he pushes her coat from her shoulders. He smells of simple soap and aftershave, and Cameron skims kisses over the smooth plane of his neck, the depth of his throaty moan humming against her lips.

Chase cards his fingers through her hair, and along the curve of her back, then slips his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, teasing along her spine and making her shiver. Stepping back slightly, Cameron pulls her shirt over her head, throwing it toward the corner of Chase's living room. Undoing her belt, she strips to her underwear before leaning in to kiss him again, instinctively trying to steer him toward the couch. But he seems to radiate an unfamiliar bold resolve, instead catching her around the waist and lifting her into his arms again. Cameron catches her breath, winding an arm around his neck and holding on. She feels off balance in more ways than the physical, but at the same time she is enjoying this, feeling more alive than she has in a very long time.

Setting her down on the bed, Chase leans over and brushes his lips along the sensitive skin between her breasts before hooking his fingers into her panties and pulling them down her legs. Stepping back again, he removes his own clothes slowly and deliberately, as though he knows that she is loving the show. Cameron settles on her back, running a hand down her own belly to stroke herself.

"Oh, fuck," breathes Chase, draping himself heavily across the bed.

Cameron sits up before he's had a chance to fully settle himself against the pillows, taking hold of his shoulders and straddling his hips. She is not thinking of the past as he guides her down, questions of loyalty and fidelity vanished from her mind, eclipsed by pure pleasure. Leaning forward, she grazes her teeth over the swell of his clavicle as she begins to move, not allowing herself to consider what this might mean. They have managed to keep things simple and uncomplicated thus far, and she has no reason to believe that will change. Chase runs his hands up over her back, breathing hard already as he drives his hips up to meet hers. Cameron lets her eyes fall closed, losing herself in the fiery oblivion of this moment, time, memories, morals all falling away. She kisses him roughly as she comes, stifling her cry against his lips. A few moments later he is shuddering beneath her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she collapses heavily against him.

"Want to spend the night?" Chase asks after a long while, when neither of them has moved. Time seems to stand still, hanging in the air with a heaviness like the oppressive moment of quiet before the breaking of a storm.

"It's late," says Cameron noncommittally, rolling over to lie on her side, facing him. If she's honest with herself, she wants to accept without question. The prospect of going back outside to battle her way through the cold and her own subconscious seems unbearable.

"That's why you should stay here," Chase presses, raking a hand through his hair. The last of the light from outside has faded, the glow from the lamp in the living room spilling in through the bedroom door to frame his silhouette.

Cameron simply nods once, settling back against the pillows. For a moment she wonders how many other women he's brought home to this position, whether she is simply allowing herself to fall down that same path. Yet she cannot entirely disapprove of his approach to relationships, no matter how strongly it might clash with her beliefs. Deep down, she is almost jealous of his ability to walk in and out of relationships unscathed, to be free of the terrible fear she faces at the mere prospect of any sort of real attachment.

"This case upset you," Chase says quietly, shattering her thoughts. It's an observation more than it is a question, and despite her instincts, Cameron finds herself unable to be angry at him this time. He is not prying; there is no hint of judgment in his voice, and where his concern would have been threatening before, tonight she is too emotionally exhausted to muster anything but cautious acceptance.

"Would you throw away a marriage if your wife cheated once?" she asks, glad of the darkness because it allows her to avoid his gaze. This might be a bad idea, she thinks, and will almost certainly lead to an argument. She and Chase rarely agree on questions of values, but tonight she feels the desperate need to have her thoughts voiced, to find companionship if only in opinion.

"I wouldn't get married in the first place," says Chase, though there's something in the hastiness of his response that makes her question its sincerity.

"Never?" Cameron shivers a little despite the heater humming in the corner, and pulls the blankets up further. His bed smells like him, and she finds herself startled by the fact that she hasn't noticed this before. "You don't believe you'll ever find the right person?"

Chase shrugs. "I don't believe in soulmates. Not sure I believe in true love, either."

"I do," says Cameron, surprising herself a little with her own resolve. It's been a long time since she's considered the question; in the last few years, she has been aware only of her limitations.

"I know." Chase takes a slow breath, and Cameron feels as though she can picture his look of curiosity even in the dark. "At least, you keep saying that you do. But then—Why are you so scared of it?"

"I'm not scared." Cameron tenses instinctively, inward defenses coming up in a rush. She has allowed him to see too much, she thinks. These are parts of herself she tries to keep hidden, buried too deep even for her memory to find. That he has been able to see her fears is a failure, a blurring of boundaries she cannot allow.

"No?" Chase sits up, laying a hand lightly on her arm. "I don't believe you. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You have feelings for total strangers, people you've never even met. We have yet to have a case where you didn't have an opinion about our patient's relationship. And yet you claim not to want any of that for yourself. Why? What happened to you that made you so afraid?"

"Nothing." Cameron swings her legs over the side of the bed in a rush which makes her head pound. Every muscle in her body is taut, her heart racing and her mouth dry. Her hands shake as she reaches down to retrieve her clothes; it takes her three tries to get her shirt on straight. This is precisely the sort of threat she has been trying to avoid, and she can't stand to have this as-yet undefined relationship of theirs ruined. "I have to go."

"Why?" Chase sounds strangely hurt, leaning over to switch on the lamp.

The suddenness of the light makes Cameron's eyes burn, and she squeezes them shut momentarily, groping blindly to finish dressing. "This wasn't the deal. It was just—sex. I want to keep it that way."

"So—what?" Chase throws up his hands, getting to his feet and pulling his clothes back on as well. "You're just gonna run away now?"

"This was the deal," Cameron answers sharply, finding her purse and keys in the living room and heading for the door. "You agreed to this. If you want to end it now, that's your choice. But I'm not giving you anything more."

Chase goes still, stunned into silence. Cameron turns and flees into the snow before he's made any kind of response.

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Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

NOTE: Last chapter! Thanks for humoring me on this diversion into a less serious plot. :) I know it probably wasn't to everyone's taste, but I hope most of you have enjoyed it! I'm already planning my next project, which will be a different sort of future fic, on an order of length somewhere between this and TRIS. Keep an eye out! Also, a huge thanks, as always, to vitawash24 for beta and moral support.

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Epilogue

Chase tells himself that this is to be expected, that no part of his arrangement with Cameron has required commitment, loyalty, or sensitivity. He would not have accepted these things had she offered, he knows. Had she been searching for a real relationship, he would have refused outright, not allowed the possibilities to go anywhere at all. Cameron has bested him at his own game, walking away unscathed. He is the one who has pushed the boundaries too far, and allowed himself to get carried away. It is for the best, he tells himself. He has nearly fallen too far, already let himself get too attached.

Weeks pass, and neither of them mentions that last night of darkness and winter. Cameron is perfectly civil at work, every bit the professional, and yet somehow inexplicably more distant than ever. Chase returns to his usual weekend conquests, to the one night stands with inconsequential strangers he never plans on seeing again. He tries to tell himself that there is no shame in this way of life, that he has defined this path for himself intentionally, to be protected from the sort of pain he's witnessed in his own family. And yet, now it feels somehow empty, pointless, tainted. In his mind's eye, he feels as though he can see Cameron's judgment, hear her chastisement that what he is doing is unhealthy, that he ought to be searching for a real relationship, though she refuses to do anything of the sort for herself.

More than a month has gone by when Cameron shows up on his doorstep again. This time she is later than ever before, coming unannounced, and Chase is thankful that he is by chance alone. There's a smugness in Cameron's eyes which fills him with a strange sense of dread as she steps inside without a word, the subtle stench of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol clinging to her hair. She is dressed in tight jeans and a leather jacket, looking transformed as though she might be someone else entirely tonight. His first thought is that she must have come here from a bar, but that seems so out of character that he dismisses it without a second thought.

"What happened?" Chase asks instinctively, sensing that something must be wrong. And yet Cameron does not look upset; she is smiling, and there's a subtle edge of scorn in the upward curve of her lips.

"Nothing," Cameron purrs, stepping forward and immediately taking hold of his belt buckle. There's a blunt boldness in her movements that he has never seen before, and can hardly fathom coming from her. She removes his pants with such dispassion that he feels captivated, enthralled by the utter lack of intimacy in this moment.

"Wait," Chase stammers, catching her hands. "You said our—arrangement—was off. What's changed?" He has seen her take the lead before, been surprised by her aggressiveness in sex. And yet this still strikes him as something entirely different, wrong, as if she is trying to rebel against the vulnerability he stole a glimpse of the last time they were together in this way.

"I didn't say it was off," says Cameron, easily lacing their fingers. "I said I wasn't giving you anything more than sex. You didn't seem to have a problem running back to your old haunts when I stopped calling. So I'm assuming you won't have a problem treating me like a one night stand right now."

Chase finds himself struggling for a response, speechless yet again before her scrutiny. He _does_ have trouble picturing her that way, he realizes. The reality of their relationship has been brought out in stark contrast to the several women he's spent the last few nights with. He does not even remember their names, yet Cameron has scarcely left his thoughts for a moment. It's been a relief thinking she was out of reach, the boundary carefully drawn out of his control and preventing him from getting too close. But now that she is here again, her face no more than a few inches from his own, he finds that he cannot bring himself to refuse her, to say anything that might make her run again.

"No," he whispers.

A look passes over Cameron's face which says she recognizes his uncertainty. But he has not voiced those thoughts, and he can practically see her conscious decision to ignore that reality. Leaning forward, she kisses him roughly, pushing his boxers down his hips. Chase steps backward out of the tangle of his pants and belt on the floor, and watches Cameron shrug out of her jacket. He peels his shirt over his head, then reaches forward to unbutton Cameron's jeans as she does the same. For a moment he stands still, breathing her in surrounded by darkness. He can feel something shifting and changing in the tension between them this night; they have reached some sort of breaking point, though he cannot yet say quite how or why. This night is at once a first and a last, a transformation undefined.

Feeling reckless, Chase sweeps her into his arms again, but does not dare take her into the bedroom this time. Instead he sets her down on the edge of the kitchen table, a stray salt shaker tumbling to the floor. Cameron looks up at him from the shadows, breathing hard. Ducking his head, Chase catches her nipple in his mouth, circling with his tongue. She moans deeply in response, goosebumps rising on the smooth plane of her back. Caressing her inner thigh, Chase moves his hand up to stroke her, listening to her gasps reach fever pitch. Cameron cries out softly as he slips himself inside of her, her fingernails digging into his skin as he drives his hips forward to meet hers.

It has been a scant few months since he first met her, since he saw her as nothing more than a hapless ingénue, a pawn in House's latest game of manipulation. They have come miles since that first day, and yet he still cannot quite define exactly what they are to each other. Breathlessly, Chase kisses her again, groaning when she curls her fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. He has missed this, even in the few weeks they have had apart, even in the wake of her frigidness at work. Chase moans into her hair as he comes, Cameron wrapping her arms around his waist as she reaches her climax a moment later. For a long time they stay that way, holding onto one another and breathing hard.

"Where were you tonight?" asks Chase, suddenly unable to be left unaware. He feels the same strange possessiveness toward her that was so striking when they first met, magnified tenfold now.

"I went to the monster truck rally," says Cameron, slipping down from the table with feline grace. She crosses her arms over her chest, but makes no move to retrieve her clothes from the living room hallway.

"With House?" Chase swallows, feeling suffocated suddenly. In the past, she has come to him in times of vulnerability, for a distraction from the emotions she is afraid to experience. But tonight he is struggling to understand, to make sense of this latest revelation.

"Yes," says Cameron firmly. "Like a date. Except not a date. But I think—maybe it was." She sounds as though she cannot decide whether she has come here to gloat or to seek reassurance.

"And you came to me," says Chase, wishing suddenly that he was not standing here entirely naked and exposed. "For sex. Why? Looking for a comparison?" He has not expected this anger in himself; he is jealous, undoubtedly. And yet these feelings are completely irrational. Their entire arrangement has depended on a deliberate lack of commitment. But now the idea of her so much as considering a real date with someone else—and especially House—sickens him.

"I—I didn't think—" Cameron takes a step backward, looking strangely hurt by his response, as though she has not considered that he might actually be angry.

"What?" Chase pushes, bitterness churning his stomach. "You thought you could just walk back in here, use me for sex, and then throw your date in my face?"

"It was just sex!" Cameron throws up her hands, but the tension of her body belies the fact that she is more defensive than exasperated.

"I'm not doing it anymore," Chase says coldly, forcing himself to take a breath. "This is going too far. You should leave." He has been falling in love with her, he realizes, slowly, surprisingly. All along he's been cheating himself into thinking that this meant nothing more than any of his other exploits so it would feel safe to continue. He is not ready for this: growing up, he has been absolutely certain that any attempt at a real relationship would spell disaster.

"Fine," Cameron answers flatly.

Watching her retreat into the night, Chase tries to find the relief it seems he ought to be feeling. He has narrowly dodged a bullet by his own standards, and yet all he feels is emptiness, disappointment in the shell of loneliness he's carefully built around himself. This is not over, he thinks. Now that he has allowed these feelings to creep into existence, they cannot simply be extinguished by one moment's decision.

On the day that they met, Chase did not believe in fate, in love at first sight, or even true romance, really.

Six years later, sitting in an empty condo and watching his discarded wedding ring spin precariously close to the edge of the coffee table, he remembers that moment. Leaning back into the couch, he closes his eyes and pictures that afternoon in House's office, Cameron an endless mystery cloaked in hopeful naivete. Practically since they met, they have been caught in this dance, coming back together time after time only to run away again. It feels hard to believe that things might finally be at an end, that they have both come so very far only to be cut short in this moment.

In the silence, the ring falls to the floor with a clatter.

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Feedback is always appreciated! (It would be super awesome if this fic could break 100 reviews! So close!)


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